The Art of Dancing with a Thief
by AutobotJena
Summary: What's a ball until you've avoided being killed by a few monsters and danced with the only angel present?


_Author's Note_: A quick drabble for you-me-and-dickspeight on tumblr. Not beta-read.

_Disclaimer_: I do not own Supernatural.

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This was by far the riskiest thing she'd ever done.

As Bela Talbot entered through the doors of the ballroom, she wondered if any of the monsters could smell the adrenaline and fear on her, because if they could, she was utterly screwed. Her heart was beating rapidly, and her palms felt sweaty, but her face was betraying nothing. Just like the people around her, she was pretending for the moment. Well, she said _people_…

Those seemingly human beings around her, young men in suits and women in long dresses with cold stares, were monsters in disguise, every single one of them – that was what she assumed anyway – and she walked among them. Because she wanted something.

The music was soft, almost inaudible over the muffled conversations of maybe fifty or sixty not-humans. Some of them were dancing; others were standing on the side in little groups. With a raised eyebrow, Bela noted that the buffet still consisted of human food.

She snatched a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, and then made her way over to the buffet, from where she had a splendid view over the entire ballroom. She took a sip of champagne to calm her nerves and then looked around with much more confidence. The crystal chandelier on the ceiling was considered with the practiced eye of a thief – she saw money hanging there, but that was not what she had come for. The same thing applied for the diamonds, pearl earrings or gold watches that the guests were wearing.

She had come for something more rare and valuable.

Right now, however, she couldn't spot the person she was looking for, and so she turned around to the buffet with a sigh. There were antipasti and tiny muffins – nobody said that the monsters' taste in what food went together was good – and Bela couldn't really decide because it all looked nice. Finally, she decided to try a tiny muffin with sugar sprinkles – only that when she reached for it, someone else snatched it before her eyes.

She felt kind of cheated, considering that none of those monsters could actually enjoy a muffin, and she was prepared to fire off some indignant remark when she turned to the side, only that the guy she found next to herself wasn't what she had expected: He had blond hair and blue eyes and a cocky sort of confidence.

"Good evening, Mister," she said with a smile that lacked an edge of friendliness. The blond guy raised an eyebrow. "You're not from around here, are you?"

He could have hinted at her British accent, but the thorough look he gave her spoke of something else. Could he tell she was human? His face didn't betray anything when he bowed his head mockingly. "Good evening, Ma'am."

His accent sounded British, too, with a hint of French at the edges. "You can talk," she said with a knowing smile. The muffin rested in his hand, seemingly forgotten. His laugh was a short bark. "Ah, yes. It's good to see someone from the homeland, huh?"

It didn't sound like he meant it, though – she was an expert at dishonest confessions. She took a more careful look at him now – the lines around his eyes spoke of a man who enjoyed laughing, despite the lines on his forehead indicating that he also knew a great deal of sorrow. He wasn't wearing a tie, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, which made him look more casual than the other guests. Still there was something… _otherworldly_ about him, an aura of divine confidence that made him stand out.

She decided to call him out on his bluff.

"But we both know that you're not really from England, don't we?"

The man's smile didn't waver, but the slightest frown appeared on his forehead, a hint of irritation he couldn't conceal – or didn't want to conceal. "Hardly anyone here is who he pretends to be."

He extended his hand. "I can, however, tell you that my name is Balthazar."

She took his hand with a firm grip and shook it. "Bela."

His smile deepened into something more seductive, and he slightly leaned forward. "Enchanté."

She knew that he wasn't really interested in her. He just enjoyed the game of flirting – quite like her, actually – and she had the time to spare.

She put on her best smile. "So, tell me, Mister Balthazar, what is your business here?"

He put down the muffin and simultaneously took the glass of champagne from her hand, setting in down on the table and taking her hands in his, leaning even more into her personal space. "Just Balthazar, please," he whispered, and his words were a warm puff of air against the skin of her neck. She chuckled, her mouth near his ear. "You're being all forward, aren't you?"

She took a step backwards and grinned at him. Balthazar seemed positively flustered, as if he hadn't expected her to flirt back but found it a pleasant surprise. He winked at her, then referred back to her question.

"I am here as a personal guest of the ambassador."

Bela's surprised smile seemed somewhat vicious. She'd heard that sort of response before – from her own mouth. She had found that people hardly ever questioned that kind of alliance because they didn't want to admit to not knowing the ambassador or important person in question that well.

"Wow," she exclaimed nevertheless, her smile exaggerated and fake, but her eyes now looking for a hint of who Balthazar really was. He wasn't human, that was for sure – and if he lied about why he was here, then maybe he wasn't as welcome among the monsters as well. Maybe he was what she was looking for. "You must be really important, then. What is it that you do?"

He pretended to be impressed by her interest, but must have seen the cold, assessing gleam in her eyes. She could see the same in his.

"I manage a collection of antique weapons," he said with a smile, "And what are you doing here?"

Oh no, he wasn't going to get her like that. "I only came for the dancing," she said with a wink. Now that got Balthazar's attention.

"Would you mind?" he asked, holding out a hand to her. She took it. "It would be my pleasure," she said, and then they were dancing before she even knew what had happened. Balthazar certainly was an excellent dancer, but he also seemed to like to brag about it.

"See, I took dancing lessons when I was in France," he whispered into her ear, more seductively that should be possible for a man who was just boosting his ego. "You're bound to get some experience in dancing when you're in France."

"Only when you're narcissistic brat who needs to keep the company of the high and mighty to feel important…" Bela chimed, rearranging her right hand behind his back to keep herself steady. Balthazar mock-frowned. "That's quite harsh, don't you think?"

They had reached the buffet again after one round of waltzing around the room. Bela let go and took a step backwards. "I don't really know what to think of you, Mister Balthazar," she said with a wink, "But it's certainly been a pleasure."

She waved at him, and then disappeared behind a crowd of shapeshifters that had gathered around the buffet. By the time Balthazar even had time to blink, she was out of the door and in her car, on the way to her faithful buyer.

On the passenger seat, an angel feather gleamed in the light of passing streetlamps.

She had gotten what she had come for.


End file.
